This man was hers. Hers until tomorrow morning, when she would get on a plane and leave him. She had tried so hard not to think about this, telling herself that there would be time to think about it later, but at that moment it hit her in long, hard sobs.
Niklas turned around.
“No, no,” he said softly, standing up.
He gently lifted her camera from around her neck and set it on the moving box. Then he gathered her in his arms and brought her over to the couch. He held her there, against the warmth of his body, stroking her hair. He let her cry and spoke softly in words she couldn’t understand. He ran his hand down her arm and along her hips and thighs until her tears stopped. Then he wrapped his arms around her again and held her into him. Caroline felt him aroused under her.
She felt it, too—the sudden and urgent need to connect with him in the most basic, most primitive way possible.
“I want you now, Niklas,” she whispered.
He released her slightly to get a look at her face.
“Are you sure?” he whispered. She could feel his body tightening underneath her.
“Very sure.”
He let her go and began to move his hands along her arms, but she shook her head.
“This time, I want to explore,” she said softly.
The words seemed to pulse through him, but he lowered his hands.
“As you wish,” he whispered in her ear.
Slowly, she lifted his shirt, taking in each inch of skin she revealed, running her hands over his stomach, tasting his salty-sweet skin. His muscles responded to her touch, twisting and contracting as she discovered where the ripples of his stomach met the hard planes of his chest. He helped her lift his shirt over his head, revealing the bulging muscles of his shoulders. They were firm and hot to the touch.
“Stand up,” she said, shifting off him. Then she smiled. “Please.”
Niklas stood up and opened his mouth to respond, but her hands on the button of his jeans seemed to stop whatever words were coming. Instead, a torn groan escaped from his mouth. Caroline smiled and continued her slow expedition down his body, unzipping his jeans. She knelt down to remove the last of his clothing, leaving his very aroused body in front of her. She let her hand settle around his thick, hard erection, feeling its throbbing weight in her hand. She looked up, but his eyes were closed, and his jaw was clamped down hard.
Suddenly he grabbed her shoulders.
“I think that’s quite enough,” he growled.
Caroline gave him a wicked smile.
“Not even close,” she said, releasing him, “but you can sit down on the couch.”
She yanked off her clothes and then moved to stand between his parted legs. But that didn’t last. She felt Niklas’s hands around her hips, pulling her down so she straddled him. They were face to face, their bodies meeting, with the hard length of him pulsing against her belly. Her body urged her to go on, to guide him deep inside her, to fill herself with him. And so she did.
At that moment, nothing else mattered. Slowly she sank onto him, allowing her body to adjust to his impossible thickness. She met Niklas’s eyes, dark and full of emotion. There was pleasure there, but there was more. His eyes held fire and sadness and something else. He must have seen something, too, because for moment, neither of them moved.
“I don’t want this to end,” she whispered.
She lifted her hips, and as she came back down, he thrust hard into her. She cried out with pleasure. He grabbed her hips firmly and lifted her again, moving her up the entire length of him before pulling her back down onto him. This time, he let out his own low groan. She never wanted this to end, but the pleasure was building so fast that she could no longer lift herself alone. He raised her to meet him, over and over. Her body was no longer attached to her own separate will but joined with his. He gave another groan, thrusting deeper into her, pushing her to the edge with a look beyond the boundaries of the physical.
“Oh, Niklas, please.”
The words spilled out of her mouth as he pulled her back down onto him. She didn’t even know what she was begging for anymore. She twisted and tasted and pulled him closer, wanting more of him, all of him, as she gave all of herself to him. There was no way back from this.
Chapter Twenty
Niklas lowered his forehead onto hers. His sweat was on her skin, and she breathed him in. His still body enclosed hers, and she didn’t want him to move. Ever. He whispered something to her in Swedish, a language that had now begun to take on meaning. She traced his lips with her fingers.
“What do those words mean?” she asked.
“They’re promises.”
“Will you tell me what they are?” she whispered.
“Will you come back to me?”
His words fell onto her. Caroline closed her eyes and let them sink in. At the point of ecstasy, she had begged him for more than release, and he knew it. She had begged him for the impossible—to somehow solve the opposing pulls she felt, to allow her to get everything she wanted. But at this moment, she realized that in some ways this was worse for him: While she was choosing between two things she wanted, if she left, he ended up with nothing. She was hurting him.
She wanted to say whatever it took to make the sadness in his voice go away. And she knew what it was that she could say to make it better for him. But she couldn’t do it, not a second time. At some point, she would end up right where she had started at the beginning of the trip, angry at herself for sacrificing her own career, her own wants, for a man. That wasn’t the foundation of any good relationship.
“I’m sorry,” he said, brushing his lips against hers. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Her fingers grasped at his hair, holding him close.
“Niklas, would you have told me that story about what happened in Detroit if I hadn’t said I was leaving? Would you still have sat for my photographs or comforted me so thoroughly just now, if I were staying?”
Niklas lifted his head and looked carefully at her. Her vision was a little blurry with tears again, but she could still see the intense blue of his eyes. He seemed to struggle with his answer.
“I don’t know,” he said, “But does it matter? Does it make what happens between us any less real or true?”
He didn’t take his eyes off her as she took in his answer. She had been struggling with this idea for days, though this was the first time she had formulated it so clearly. As the days and, now, the hours melted down to the end, she felt herself drawn closer, further into him. Was this simply the force of the moment? Would this feeling quickly fade away, or was Niklas reaching something deeper inside her, something that would never leave her alone?
She would never know unless she left. But while part of her wanted to know the answer to these questions, she had a nagging feeling that Niklas was right. She wanted him to be right.
Caroline met his gaze again. He was waiting for her answer.
“I don’t know if it matters,” she said honestly. “I don’t know.”
STEAM FILLED THE bathroom, but Caroline wasn’t ready to get out any time soon. Niklas’s arms were around her as the hot water came down, pooling between their bodies. It was impossible to tell where she ended and he began.
“Do you want some sleep?” she asked.
Niklas shook his head. “I’ll sleep when you leave,” he murmured.
Instead, Caroline took the soap in her hand and stepped back from him. Then, slowly, she began to wash his body. She took her time with the same, aching sadness as before, wanting to remember each part of him.
“What else will you do when I leave?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t want to think about that.”
He twitched and flexed as she explored the curve of each arm, the length of each finger, the slope of his back and the scar on his knee. She watched the water bead and run down his skin as she moved lower down his stomach. She heard a low groan ove
r the sound of the water, but he stayed still, letting her explore, this time without stopping her.
Caroline knelt down in front of him, moving the bar of soap up one leg, then the other. Finally, she put the bar down and washed the rest of him. His thigh muscles were rigid, and when she looked up at his face, his lips were parted in unuttered words. Then she opened her mouth to take him in.
Niklas let out a low cry and grabbed the wall to hold himself up.
THEY LAY, SOMEWHERE between waking and sleeping, as the light of the morning crept back into the bedroom. Niklas had gathered her into him, his chest along her back, his arms and legs tangled with hers. Their bodies fit together.
Caroline lifted her head slightly and looked at the clock. Twelve more minutes, and then it was time to go. She had tried to resist these glances, counting down the hours, then minutes, but as the end crept nearer, she found she couldn’t stop herself.
Niklas reached up and gently guided her head back down to the pillow.
“Not yet,” he whispered, laying his cheek onto hers. “Just lie here and let me forget you’re leaving for a few more minutes. Remember, my way tonight.”
Caroline closed her eyes and tried as hard as she could, but the knot in her stomach wouldn’t go away. Everything was a last of something. The last time the bristle of his unshaven cheek would rub against hers, the last time his hand would hold the curve of her hip against him. She bit her lip to stifle the emotions that threatened to swell again. Because this was her decision, wasn’t it? And it was what she wanted, right?
Caroline listened to his breath and felt the slow beat of his heart on her back, though at times it was hard to tell the difference between his and hers.
The alarm finally rang, and Niklas rolled onto his back when she reached over him to turn it off. He pulled her onto his chest and squeezed her hard. He took her face in both his hands and kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her forehead, her mouth. He stroked her hair and held her tightly, and she buried her tears in his neck, unable to pull herself away.
ACROSS THE EMPTY street was Vasaparken, unchanged in the last month, despite the complete upheaval of Caroline’s life. Not so long ago, she had imagined a mystical world with only her and Niklas right here in front of her, but now she was willingly leaving it.
Caroline stepped into the taxi cab, filled with the stale cold of morning air. She looked up one more time into the windows above, but all she saw was the reflection of the gray sky. She swallowed hard and slammed the door shut.
Her plan was to take the airport shuttle bus, but Niklas had insisted on the cab. It wasn’t safe to take the bus that early, he argued, and leaving by cab from this side of town meant an extra hour together. She didn’t want to tell him the reason she had chosen the bus: A cab cost double the bus ride or more, and without many clear opportunities to make money in the near future, she was on a tight budget. But he had insisted.
“Okay,” she finally said, and he made the online reservation before she could change her mind. And when that last hour came, she was glad for it. At that moment, it was worth much more than the taxi fare.
The ride was long. The office buildings and shopping centers changed to forest, then to suburban houses, then back again to shopping centers as they headed to Arlanda airport. Thick gray clouds threatened rain but somehow brightened the green in the pastures and fields. She would miss this quiet beauty of Stockholm.
Her taxi turned off the highway and finally delivered her in front of the airport. She handed her credit card to the driver, but he waved her off.
“Paid when you made the reservation, remember?”
She managed to nod as her eyes filled up. Niklas had paid for her cab. He must have known why she had resisted.
The airport was empty when she arrived, too early for the morning rush. Only one agent stood behind the long row of desks. Caroline walked across the enormous room, the wheels of her luggage echoing in the silence of the hall. The man looked up.
“Are there still standby seats on the 6:30 flight to Brindisi?”
Caroline showed the agent her ticket.
“Not many of these kinds of tickets come through here,” he said, smiling. He spoke with a perfect British accent. “Looks like a lot of fun.”
Caroline tried to smile. The agent typed something into his computer and then looked up.
“There’s one seat left in economy class, but I’m sure you’ll be fine. Not many last-minute purchases on early morning flights like these,” he said, “but I can’t issue the boarding pass until two hours before the flight departs. You can wait over there.”
He pointed to an alcove along the window.
Slowly, she walked over to the sleek, black benches lined up next to the entrance way, the wheels of her suitcase echoing through the hall again. What would happen if the flight filled up? Should she take it as a sign that she should stay? The thought was tempting. She could go back to Niklas’s apartment and curl up into his bed, against the warmth of his body.
Or would Niklas see her return in another light? When her first choice didn’t work out, she came back, dragging out the goodbyes one more time until the next flight. No, Caroline decided, she couldn’t go back. Besides, the agent was right. No one booked 6:30 am flights to Italy at the last minute. Reality was much more mundane. Soon, she would pick up the ticket from the counter and say goodbye to Sweden.
Caroline leaned back on the bench and looked at the clock. 45 minutes. In 45 minutes, the last seat would be released and the rest of her life would begin. She tried to conjure up the pictures of the southern Italian farms and hills that she had poured over so many times, but the excitement she had felt even up to last week was gone.
With a sigh, Caroline instead unzipped her handbag and dug out her camera bag. She pulled out the camera and turned it on. Then she began to scroll through the photos she had taken the night before. Niklas. She traced the width of his shoulders with her eyes. His blond hair was messy, and in one photo, he was running his hand through it. She scrolled further, taking in each image, as if replaying a movie in slow motion, until the last one. She had caught him just as he was turning around to her, just as she had started to cry. She zoomed in. His eyes looked right at the camera, questioning her, his whole face lined with worry.
This time, Caroline didn’t try to hold back her tears. There was no one around. She just let them fall as she stared at the image on her tiny camera screen.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there, looking at the photo, but gradually she became aware that other people had begun to trickle in. The airport was coming to life. Caroline looked up at the clock. 4:25 am. In five minutes, she would pick up her boarding pass and walk through security, over to her gate.
She turned off her camera and stuffed it back into her bag. Then, slowly, she stood up and crossed the departures hall once more. When she came to the front of the line, the agent looked up at her, and his face fell.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was wrong. That last economy seat sold. It almost never happens, but it did this time.”
The nauseous combination of sleeplessness and her uncomfortable decision that had hovered around her all morning now took over her body. She was stuck. Everything felt numb. Her face must have shown her distress because the agent’s eyes widened.
“Let me just check the next flight… no, nothing…” He kept typing for another minute. Then he said in a gentle voice, “You have two options. You can either come back tomorrow morning and try again. There are six seats still available on that flight. Or you can pay an extra 400 Euros to buy an upgrade for one of the first class tickets. There are a few of those left.”
400 Euros. 400 Euros meant eight nights in the little pensione she had wanted to stay in. 400 Euros was 20 evening-long meals while watching the sun set over the water. She didn’t have that kind of money to spend. But she couldn’t go back and stay another night in Stockholm, either. Even if it didn’t push Nik
las over the edge, it would certainly wring the last of her heart dry.
“Let me think about it for a moment,” she whispered and stepped aside to let the next customer by. Her mind was blank.
She was aware of someone standing close behind her.
“You can go—” she started to say. But as she turned around, she stopped mid-sentence, her mouth hanging wide open.
“Niklas,” she finally managed to say.
Her voice came out hoarse and scratchy, and the tears that had ebbed on the bench flowed back out.
He was standing close to her in jeans and a dark t-shirt, with a baseball cap pulled low over his face. He took off his sunglasses, and his eyes shone into hers.
“There are no more seats left,” she blurted out. “I can’t get on the plane.”
He brushed a stray lock of hair off her face and then put his hand on her shoulder, gently caressing her.
“There are still tickets,” he said quietly. “He just told you that.”
“First class,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t afford that.”
He bent down and whispered in her ear, “I can.”
For the first time she noticed the duffel bag in his other hand. She looked up at him, back down at the bag and then up into his eyes again, trying to register what was happening.
“I want to go with you. If you’ll let me,” he said with a hint of a smile.
Caroline opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
When she didn’t answer, he continued a little faster, “You can spend your days alone if you want. I won’t get in your way. I just want to be with you—”
She shook her head, and her voice came back.
“No, Niklas, I don’t want to spend my days alone,” she said. “I want to spend them with you. God, I want that.”
She put her hands along the sides of his face, running her fingertips along the stubble of his cheeks as if to make sure this was real. Then she brought his face down to hers for a long kiss. She pulled him into her, closing the last inches of space between their bodies, pressing herself into the warmth of his embrace. She felt the first evidence of his arousal against her.
Stockholm Diaries, Caroline Page 19
